


Romance Isn't Dead (Until I Say It Is)

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cute Dean, Dean is a Sweetheart, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Firefighter Dean, Humor, M/M, Mishaps and Humor, Picnics, Rain, Romantic Castiel, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Gestures, Sexual Content, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 06:35:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8133892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: But he can’t give up. Five years ago, he made a vow to love and cherish him no matter what, and if this ain’t going to show him how much he does, Dean doesn’t know what will.Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath as he steps out of the bathroom. He hasn’t felt this nervous around Cas since they met at that warehouse party. At least then Cas had taken obvious interest in him from across the dance floor, drinking in his gaze, his body, the way Dean moved, but now, he’s standing before a completely shell-shocked Cas.





	

"Shit," he mutters, furiously waving a towel over the deafening fire alarm.

For some reason, this makes the alarm beep _louder,_ causing him to nearly stumble from the step stool and onto the kitchen tile clutching his ears so hard to drown the sound out.

Oh well, if the alarm keeps droning on, he’ll get to see Dean in uniform, which he never does, not even for bedroom roleplay—

 _No,_ no. He can’t see Dean. Not yet, anyway.

Castiel sighs. His day didn't start off like this. In fact, he’d been having a pretty commendable day. He woke up—on his _own_ terms, for once, rather than from the endless rattle of his clock, had breakfast thanks to Zachariah taking his nine o'clock appointment, managed to evade an Ogre-colored glob of his protein shake from slithering down the length of his signature blue tie at lunch, got off early at the surprising mercy of his boss, and even had a random stranger compliment his new suede loafers on the way to his Continental.

Everything goes to hell in a hand basket—literally, he burns the chicken, the grilled cheeses, and the rim of the pie to flaky crisps, rendering everything inside the picnic basket fit for a spit-roast in Hades—when all he wants to do is treat his husband to a nice, relaxing night out, away from the station, away from the Eiffel Tower of bills on their counter, away from all the bullshit.

Just when he’s about to give up, an idea hits him. It's a far-stretch, but it just might work.

**

“No, ma’am, I ordered _three_ Turducken’s. No, I know that’s what I ordered, I have the re-yes, if you must know, they’re for my husband and- _yes,_ I understand that makes only two people, usually one can’t sate him, so we have to order—why am I explaining this?! Just forget it-no just, bye.”

Cas shakes his head and blows steam through his nose that would look more suitable coming out his ears. Not only did he lose five dollars, he lost any forgiveness he ever had from Dean.

Well, okay, that’s a little irrational, but that’s what it feels like. Five years ago, he made a vow to love and cherish him no matter what, and _this,_ this isn’t love. This isn’t cherishing. This is a plain mockery. All he’s got to show for his undying love is three burnt entrees and two Turducken’s that… yeapp, she forgot to include the sauce packets too. No surprise there. Cas deserves as much for being the worst spouse in the world.

But Dean doesn’t. No, Cas won’t let his vows go unbroken. He’s going to _prove_ Dean he can do something nice. He’ll just have to work with what he’s got.

**

Dean keeps the suit on.

Cas watches, entranced, as he steps through the front door, guarded against any potential fiery threat in a black suit stripped yellow across his chest and stomach. Parked on the spikey brown plain of his head is a helmet with a protective gas mask. It shields all but his bright green eyes until Dean peels it over his head.

A cheeky smile spreads across his freckled face, and then he says, “Well, if this isn’t something straight out of a romance novel.”

Cas scratches his neck as he steps closer. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Babe,” Dean says, strong, calloused hands gripping Cas’s shoulders as he looks him in the eye, “I’m pretty sure the entire _town_ can smell your cooking.”

Cas scoffs, shoving him lightly to draw him back by the bulky lapel of his uniform, “If you knew it was my cooking, why did you show up in the first place?” Dean purses his lips and looks to the ceiling, as if it’ll open a secret door and give him all the answers, then he looks back at Cas, and dips down.

Cas dives in first, sighing as he kisses into him. When Dean pulls back, knocking his plump lower lip with Cas’s upper just like he knows drives Cas crazy, Cas nods. “I should burn things more often.”

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem for you.”

“Shut up, you _love_ my cooking.”

“The _dog_ loves your cooking.”

Cas squints, determining the authenticity in the statement. Dean’s like a mystery book, unpredictable, but intriguing. It’s hard to tell if he’s joking. “Well, either way, Clarence has good taste.”

“What’re you doing home so early anyway?” Dean asks, to which Cas smiles.

“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” Cas responds, leading Dean into the kitchen.

When Dean’s eyes land on the picnic basket, he bursts out laughing, “That thing can fit Toto!”

“Or two Turducken’s, but if you wanna binge-watch Judy Garland films, be my guest—”

“No way.”

It’s Cas’s turn to laugh, watching Dean lick his lips like a kid outside a closed candy store, “Yes way. I know you usually get two, but they screwed up my order. You can have mine if you want, I’ll just stick with a salad or something, it’s probably better for me anyway after the candy bar I snuck in in-between my bre—”

Before Cas can finish the invisible point of his rambling, Dean pulls him in for another kiss.  This time, there’s tongue. Dean tastes like a cheeseburger, milkshake, and peppermint gum to smother the scent. “Whoa, hey, save room for dinner- _oh_ ,” Cas says, bucking into Dean as he kisses the length of his tanned neck. “There’s dessert too, you know.”

“Mm, but what if _you’re_ both entrees?” Dean mumbles, licking a trail of his own saliva that ran down Cas’s throat and pooled in his windpipe. Cas hand white-knuckles Dean’s back with a moan.

“Were you- _ah-_ waiting to use that line?”

That’s when Dean pulls back completely and grabs the picnic basket. “Maybe. Guess you’ll have to find out. Luckily for you, _I_ got off early.” Dean starts to shuck off his gloves, helmet, and then his belt.

“No,” Cas growls territorially, “leave it on.”

Dean grins.

**

Their picnic provides good conversation and good atmosphere. Hardly any kids come to the park after seven, and the birds have quieted their song, leaving only the rustle of wind through the trees to serenade them. The grass is also a plus, soft and pliable beneath them and still slightly wet from early morning dew. The smell is salty and earthy at the same time. And the food isn’t too bad—okay, it’s _bad,_ but the Turducken’s won Dean’s heart as well as the warm gooey center of the cherry pie, and that’s all that matters.

“Look at you, _Barry_ Crocker,” Dean comments, digging his fingers in. Cas would’ve brought forks, but he knows how much Dean loves staining his fingers when it comes to pie. It disgusts most people, but Cas isn’t most people. In fact, he thinks Dean looks adorable, the way he practically finger-paints his mouth. Not only that, but the way his eyes light up like Pontiac Square during Christmas Eve every time he bites into a cherry.

“Actually,” Cas says, “I made that from scratch.”

Dean pauses, and makes sure to swallow before he drops his mouth. “You… you made pie for me?”

“It’s nothing. If anything, I should get you more, seeing as you’re my husband—a pretty damn good one, too—but it’s just normally so hectic, and—”Again, Dean cuts him off with a kiss. Cas smiles into it this time. “Mmm,” he says, “that is pretty good, isn’t it?”

“You know what this reminds me of?”

“Hmm?”

Dean scoops a piece of pie and smothers Cas’s mouth with it. “Our wedding night,” he says, laughing.

Cas shakes his head, causing a large flake of crust to fall off. “I would give you a taste of your own medicine, but that would be redundant.”

Dean laughs, deep and rich. They sit there for a moment, just staring at each other with goofy grins, just like when they fell in love over a purely accidental first kiss, when Cas feels something wet slide off his arm. Before they know it, it’s raining.

“Holy shit!” Dean exclaims, helping Cas shove the items into the basket. Quickly, they get up and run to the car with only Cas’s coat as an umbrella, which does as good as clear tape over an open wound.

**

Dean laughs and catches his breath at the same time. One thing he can say about moving east is its unpredictability. But Dean can be a pretty unpredictable guy, so it works.

He turns to Cas, who’s equally as drenched, laughing again, “What a trip, huh?”

But Cas isn’t laughing. He’s so still, rainwater sits on his long eyelashes like an awning. “Babe, are you—?”

“No, I’m _not_ okay, Dean,” he huffs, staring out the window.

“What’s wrong?”

“ _Everything!”_ he exclaims. “Everything I tried to do went to shit. I cook, I burn the food. I know I can’t cook, I know I should’ve just gone to Biggerson’s in the first place, but God, it’s just so fucking frustrating when I want to do something _nice._ And then it rains, on top of it! It _literally_ rains on my fucking parade.”

Dean’s smile irons out. He doesn’t interrupt Cas with a kiss like he usually does when he rambles. He can sense Cas’s vulnerability, his sadness. The best he can do is reassure him he did his best, or…

Or show him.

With that thought in mind, he puts his Chevy Impala in motion and heads towards home.

**

"Dean? What’s taking you so long?” Cas says from the bedroom. “This towel’s already soaked through; I need to take a shower so I can go back to being sad.”

“Almost done!” Dean calls from inside the bathroom, hand white-knuckling the counter. God, what a stupid idea. He hasn’t worn these since that chick loaned them to him (Keyword: “loaned”)… what was her name? Rachel? Wanda? They probably don’t even fit anymore, granted how tight they feel. He’d like to think he grew more in that area, but then so do all men.

But he can’t give up. Five years ago, he made a vow to love and cherish him no matter what, and if _this_ ain’t going to show him how much he does, Dean doesn’t know what will.

Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath as he steps out of the bathroom. He hasn’t felt this nervous around Cas since they met at that warehouse party. At least then Cas had taken obvious interest in him from across the dance floor, drinking in his gaze, his body, the way Dean moved, but now, he’s standing before a completely shell-shocked Cas.

“They’re stupid, I know,” Dean says, “I just wanted to find a way to tell you how awesome you are in spite of everything that happened today, but I get it if you’re not into… _this,_ you know as a kinky thing or anything _._ I’ll just take them off—”

“N-no,” Cas stammers, nearly falling over the edge of the bed to get to Dean.

Gingerly, Cas takes his hand and traces it down Dean’s bare chest, over his stomach, and stops at the waistband. Dean’s exhales sharply. He’s only ever done this once, and that was with someone he barely trusted (and obviously can’t remember to save his life) who made _him_ do all the work. He never thought he’d open to the possibility of anyone else's hand with the pink lacy material rubbing against him.

“I-uh, I think this might be my new favorite costume of yours,” Cas says.

A shy smile crosses Dean’s face as he drinks in the overwhelming lust in Cas’s eyes. Maybe this _is_ like the night they met. “Really? Even over my work uniform?”

Cas looks up at Dean and motions for him to come closer. Dean does as he’s told, only for Cas to whisper hotly in his ear, “Guess we’ll have to find out.”

 

 

They don’t surface from their bed until the rain stops pounding on their windows.

 


End file.
